


the kind who asks you for a little sugar

by the_one_that_fell



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Neighbors, First Kiss, Food, Getting Together, M/M, Novelist Jack, Restaurant Owner Bitty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-05
Updated: 2017-10-05
Packaged: 2019-01-09 05:13:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12269601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_one_that_fell/pseuds/the_one_that_fell
Summary: Jack moves into a boring Massachusetts neighborhood, quiet and dull and just perfect for a novelist looking to write his next book. And then he meets his next door neighbor.





	the kind who asks you for a little sugar

When Jack moved into the plain, white house on Maple Street, he wasn’t expecting much except the peace and quiet he needed to write his next novel. Most of the neighbors were elderly or wrapped up in their young-parent bubble, too busy to notice the quiet, serious man now living in the late Mr. Ripley’s house. And Jack preferred it that way.

Every house on the street seemed a part of the scenery to Jack, weathered and simple with neat yards and the occasional rocking chair or wind chimes on the porches. Every house, that was, but his next door neighbor.

The house to the left of Jack’s was a buttery yellow color, the yard divided between garden and eclectic statues of rabbits and butterflies and other ridiculous things. The mailbox was covered in painted sunflowers and a faded pride flag hung in the window. It made Jack uneasy, knowing his neighbor was probably some overzealous, middle-aged lady who owned several cats and healed her colds with crystals. With one last look at the house and the pie that sat to cool on the windowsill, Jack wrinkled his nose and returned to his own home.

* * *

Jack had not lived on Maple Street for longer than 24 hours when someone knocked on his door. Hoping it was the delivery of his new couch, Jack opened the door, and was surprised to find, instead, a handsome man holding a steaming pie.

“Hi!” The man greeted, grinning from ear to ear. “I’m Eric, I live next door.” He nodded toward the yellow house. “Welcome to the neighborhood.”

Very tentatively, Jack took the pie and grunted out, “I’m Jack.”

“Welcome, Jack,” Eric repeated. “Please let me know if you have any food allergies and I’ll whip up a new pie. The oven’s always running at the Bittle house.”

Jack nodded slowly, a bit overwhelmed. “Thanks,” he managed to say, staring at the pie like he’d never seen a pastry before. “Would you…like to come in?”

“Oh, no, I’m afraid I’m on my way out for the day, but rain check?” When Jack nodded, Eric continued, “Eat a slice while it’s hot–that’s when it’s the best. And I hope to see you around, Jack.”

And then he was gone down the steps, all but skipping next door to the battered Volkswagen Beetle that sat in his driveway. Jack watched, still shellshocked, as Eric drove off, pop music blaring from his car as he sped out of the sleepy, Massachusetts neighborhood.

Jack supposed there was always  _that_  neighbor, no matter where you lived. He shut the front door with a swift kick and deposited the pie on his kitchen counter, unsettled in a most alien way.

(Eric was right, however; the pie did taste best straight from the oven.)

* * *

It was a few weeks later, after a harrowing, draining meeting with his editor, that Jack saw Eric again. The man was walking his dog down the street, dressed in tight sweatpants and a cherry-red sweatshirt. Jack had to admit to himself that Eric looked good in red, even if he was loud and talkative and absurdly cheerful for someone over the age of thirty. Jack frowned as he gazed a little longer out of his study window, then returned to the paragraph he’d been struggling with. When he glanced out the window again, not a minute later, Eric and the dog were gone and Maple Street seemed a little darker.

Jack sighed, and decided to go for a walk himself, his bad knee cramping from sitting for so long. He took a moment to stretch it out, then headed out to the sidewalk, surprised at the chilliness of the evening. Though it made him shiver, the cold always reminded him of home, of the rink, of Quebec. Jack smiled, a little sadly, and picked up his pace, speeding past Bittle’s yellow abomination.

Jack circled back twenty minutes later, eyes struggling to adjust to the odd dimness of dusk. The soft, yellow glow of the windows along Maple shone like aisle lights in a theater, dotting along his way home. Music played softly in the distance, and, despite himself, Jack wandered towards it, entranced.

Both surprisingly and utterly unsurprisingly, Jack followed the melody’s trail back to Bittle’s house. In the orange-blue evening, the house seemed warm and golden, and the smells coming from the open window were sweet and buttery and tinged the air with a cacophony of spices.

Curious and possibly a little lonely, Jack walked up the porch steps and knocked on the door.

It took a moment and quite a bit of muffled shouting before the door swung open to reveal a flour-caked Bittle grinning in surprise.

“Jack!” He cried, already ushering him in. “Goodness, it’s chilly out- and where is your coat, mister? Come in, come in, I’ll put on a pot of decaf.”

Despite that now-familiar overwhelmed feeling Jack got around Bittle, Jack was content to let the man herd him into the kitchen. The walls were papered in an old-fashioned style, yellow and pink flowers climbing upwards in a beautiful pattern, and the cabinets were all painted a soft, cream color.

“Texas Pecan or Cinnamon Hazelnut?” Bittle asked, holding up two tins of coffee. Jack opened and closed his mouth a few times, uncertain what either of those things even tasted like.

“Surprise me,” he eventually said, and this didn’t seem to dampen Bittle’s spirit in the slightest.

“Pecan, then,” he said, putting on tin back in the lower cabinet from which it came. “It’s less sweet, which will pair nicely with the mini coffee cakes that’re baking right now.” He grinned at Jack and began scooping grounds into the small coffee pot on the counter. “I’m making ‘em for Mrs. Lowry’s PTA bake sale–but don’t tell Moira Jones, she’s such a busybody–and Julia–Mrs. Lowry–needs to win the approval of the other mothers so she can run for president of the education board.”

Jack nodded weakly, unsure of who any of these people were. He thought maybe the Jones family lived a few doors down, but hadn’t really talked to many people on Maple street other than Bittle. Bittle, it seemed, knew the entire neighborhood.

“-and I’m sure Julia won’t mind if we steal a couple,” he was still saying, now pouring water into the pot and flipping the switch. “I made so many anyway. So!” He clapped his hands together, a small cloud of flour billowing up in front of him. “What can I do you for? Or did you just come by for a visit?”

“Oh.” Jack swallowed roughly and shrugged. “I heard your music while I was out walking.”

It was a terrible explanation, but it made Bittle smile wide. “Are you a Beyonce fan, Jack?”

“Not really,” Jack admitted. “But it’s…nice.”

“Nice, he says,” Bittle teased, wiping his hands off on a towel. “She’s  _everything_.”

This startled a smile out of Jack, a rare occurrence. “Everything, eh?”

“Of course,” Bittle said simply. “Oh, there you are, Peaches.”

The dog Jack had seen Bittle walking earlier wandered into the kitchen, staring at Jack and quickly skirting around him to hide between Bittle’s legs. It was a goofy-looking creature, one of those corgis Jack could never understand. Peaches was, admittedly, pretty cute, with his wiggly butt and happy face. Jack knelt down and let Peaches approach him slowly, sniffing at his hand. Eventually it got close enough for Jack to pet, and all but  _melted_  under his fingers when he began scratching between its ears.

“She likes you,” Bittle said happily. “That’s a good sign. She  _hates_  those Phillips boys down the street and they both recently got suspended for vandalism; Peaches has impeccable instincts.”

“I’m sure,” Jack said, grinning down at the ridiculous creature. “Hey there, little bud.”

“Who're you calling little?” Bittle asked, laughing. “Peaches is above-average size for a corgi.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” Jack said and, in a moment of surprise and near-panic, realized he was feeling…happy. Not just content, but  _happy_. Maybe self-imposed solitude in a random Massachusetts suburb hadn’t been the best plan. (Or maybe he’d needed it, but in an unexpected way.)

“So, Jack, what do you do?” Bittle asked, rushing to turn off his rabbit-shaped timer as it signaled the end of his baking time.

“I’m a writer,” Jack said as Bittle pulled two large muffin trays from the wheezing, old oven. The scent of nutmeg and cinnamon filled the kitchen like a flood, so much stronger than before. “Mostly historical fiction, though I’ve been working on a manuscript for a more contemporary mystery novel lately.”

Bittle gasped in excitement at that, depositing the trays on trivets so they could cool. “A writer, how interesting. My friend, Derek, he’s a poet, but his day job’s as a professor in Boston. You’re a full-time writer? Those still exist?”

Jack nodded, amused by the reaction. “Yeah, we do. It’s not glamorous, really, but it’s a quiet life, which I like.”

“Oh, I don’t think I could work such a solitary job,” Bittle said, shaking his head. “Or one that requires sitting still for so long. I own the Haus chain,” he added, whirling around to grab two mugs from the cabinet. “Those restaurants around town? The original was just the Haus, and then there’s Full Haus, the larger brick-and-mortar over in the Faber shopping center, near the Target, and Haus and Home, which has the attached home goods shop. We’re opening a location in Worcester, but I haven’t decided on a name for it.”

Jack nodded through the whole spiel, accepting the coffee gratefully. Though it was a lot to process, he found he liked Bittle’s rambling. It filled the silence easily and Bittle never seemed to expect Jack to say much in return. He sipped at the coffee, surprised by the nutty smoothness of the blend, and finally let his guard down completely, soaking in this simple moment with his new neighbor.

Jack didn’t leave for another hour and when he did it was with several cakes tucked away in tupperware and a promise to get together again soon. Jack returned to his house with dog hair on his jeans and an uncomfortably full belly, and he slept hard and soundly with the taste of pecan and spices lingering at the back of his mind.

* * *

The following weekend found Jack at the farmer’s market held at the local elementary school. It wasn’t huge, but he still loved the feeling of it, the smell of fresh vegetables and cooking treats.

To his surprise, one of the booths proudly read “The Haus” and was manned by two bored-looking young men. “Sample?” One of them asked Jack, holding out a tray of chopped-up schnitzel. Jack shrugged and took one of the toothpicks.

“Oh, this is good,” he said. “This is Eric Bittle’s restaurant, right?”

The man nodded. “Yep! Mr. Bittle’s here today, actually, though not to babysit us,” he added, face growing serious. “He’s just also here while we’re here. We’re perfectly capable of running the stand alone, the incident with the pig was a  _long_  time ago-”

“Tony, chill,” his friend said. “Mr. B’s buying fruit and shit for himself. One sample per customer.”

Jack nodded and tossed the toothpick into a nearby trashcan, thanking the men. He didn’t know why he felt so include to find Bittle, but he started scanning the crowd for that familiar blonde hair all the same.

Jack eventually found Bittle at a beekeeper’s stand, examining honey. “Oh, Jack!” Bittle said as Jack sidled up next to him. “I’m thinking of making baklava for my friend’s engagement party. Here, try this honey, it’s divine.”

Bittle took a tester spoon from the beekeeper, who seemed to know Bittle and made no fuss, and held it up to Jack’s lips. Uncertain, Jack took the spoon into his mouth and sucked the honey from the plastic, delighted by the simple sweetness of it.

“That’s really good,” he said, licking at his lips. “I may have to buy myself a jar, for toast.”

“Mm, butter and honey on toast sounds fantastic right now,” Bittle said, examining the price board. “Oh, and with chamomile tea. Here, I’ll take these two,” he said to the beekeeper, pulling out his wallet.

Acting quickly, Jack grabbed another jar and placed it with Bittle’s, then handed the man a wad of cash before Bittle could protest. “My treat,” he said. “And maybe we could go have that toast and tea?”

Jack hadn’t actually expected Bittle to be a blusher, but he was, splotches of color dancing up his hairline endearingly. “That would be nice,” he finally said, as close to shy as Jack had ever seen him. “I’m finished here if you want to head back now.”

“Yeah.” Jack nodded, shoving his hands into his pockets. He hadn’t felt this giddy or this nervous since he was a teenager.

“Well, then,” Bittle said, loading the honey into his canvas sack and taking Jack’s arm with an uncertain smile. “Let’s head home.”

* * *

This thing with Bittle wasn’t clear to Jack. Were they dating? Still in the flirting stage? Just friends who spent long hours at Bittle’s kitchen table together, curled over steaming mugs and decadent sweets? Who knew?

But as Jack’s novel started growing absurdly romantic, to the point of his editor ranting at him for half an hour, bewildered by this uncharacteristic turn of events, he decided it was time to clarify. Though outright terrified of Bittle’s rejection, Jack was no quitter. He put on his favorite henley and cleanest jeans and headed over the eclectic house next door and knocked on the door, suddenly wondering why the hell he hadn’t thought to bring flowers.

“Jack, just the man I wanted to see,” Bittle said as he opened the door. “I’ve got a pot of peppermint tea steeping and shortbread cookies in the oven. Peaches!” He called, all but pulling Jack into the house. “Your favorite person is here!”

Peaches wobbled into the room, jumping up paw at Jack’s knees. Jack knelt down to pet her, but didn’t linger as Bittle headed back into the kitchen. The dog could wait; Jack was on a mission.

“So, euh, I wanted to talk to you,” Jack said, wringing his hands together as Bittle pulled mugs from the drying rack and checked the strength of the tea. “About…us.”

“Us?” Bittle looked startled. “What about us?”

“Well, um.” Jack swallowed loudly and took a deep breath to fortify himself. “I really like you and I thought maybe the things we were doing qualified as dating but I wasn’t actually sure and I want it to be dating but not if you don’t want to and I’m sorry if I’ve just made things awkward, I really like being friends with you and that’s enough if that’s all you feel-”

Bittle cut him off with two fingers pressed to his lips. “You silly man,” he said quietly, smiling warmly up at Jack. “Of course I want it to be dating, too. I thought it was. Explains why you haven’t tried to kiss me yet.”

Jack let out a quiet, relieved laugh. “Then why haven’t  _you_  kissed  _me?”_  He asked, grin growing wide as Bittle stepped closer, hands resting on Jack’s chest.

“Because I’m a gentleman, obviously,” he teased, close enough now that he had to look straight up at Jack. “And I was nervous.”

“Well, then, I guess I’ll have to do something about that,” Jack said, and he leaned down to kiss Bittle soundly, hands cupping Bittle’s cheeks. They broke apart just as Bittle’s rabbit-shaped timer chirped at them.

“Guess I should get those cookies,” Bittle said, chewing on his bottom lip. “Don’t you move a muscle.”

And Jack didn’t. He knew there were greater things than cookies waiting for him when Bittle hurried back.

* * *

A year later, Jack packed up his belongings and moved from the plain, old house on Maple street. Next door, in the bright yellow abomination, Bittle opened the front door to help him carry in boxes and bags, Peaches at his heels. Jack smiled, and decided he could get used to all the color as long as it meant Bittle was there, too.

 

**Author's Note:**

> [Cross-posted to tumblr.](http://alphacrone.tumblr.com/post/166052056977/the-kind-who-asks-you-for-a-little-sugar-zimbits)
> 
> [My online novel.](http://thediscourtknife.com/)


End file.
